


Tea Party

by tidepool



Category: True Detective
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-05 17:16:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6713836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tidepool/pseuds/tidepool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin basically! A little tooth rotting treat for <strike>Sunday</strike> Tuesday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! The setting for this is after the finale when we can definitely assume they live together lol.

Marty's making tea like always in a late Sunday morning ritual that's as regular as church. Green for him, black with a pinch of sugar for Rust.

Sometimes he thinks it would be nice if they both liked the same thing though he's not willing to bend on his preferences. Though it might be fun to go shopping for an old fashioned teapot where their two teabags could hang around twisted together in warm darkness, kind of like them these days. If teapot shopping ever become a reality he wonders if Rust would gripe about it at first yet also have a strong opinion on what qualities they should look for.

It's an optional part of their Sunday ritual, but Marty's also constructing a sandwich. It's turkey and lettuce and tomato on low carb bread, but then he gets the notion to cut it into four triangles to fancy it up a bit. Then he keeps going with that theme and trims off all the crusts.

The bread reminds him of Rust because it's thin and different and tougher than most. If Marty had to be likened to a bread product it would most likely be a big white slab of Texas Toast and he wonders with a chuckle if that's anything Rust ever ate or liked.

Rust has an unspoken request for tea whenever Marty brews his own but he hasn't expressed interest in eating and generally won't unless it's at Marty's urging, but Marty starts putting together a sandwich for him too.

He's been quiet today like he usually is when things happen the night before, the stuff in bed where they're both stripped down in more ways than one and connecting in ways they never dreamed possible. It's never discussed, only done in the darkness and the day after is always delicate and unsure. Rust is always pensive while Marty prays he's not deciding it's a bad idea, which is why he works so hard to do pleasant things for him. Like if he makes him a plate of pretty sandwiches maybe he won't ever want to leave.

"Here you go."

Rust takes his tea and looks at the plate with the triangles perfectly arranged. "The fuck is this?"

"An armadillo. Pink with blue spots."

Rust is so expressionless it's almost like the other man's facetious words are an obvious fact. "This some kinda fuckin' tea party?"

"It's whatever you want it to be. Now shut up and eat." Marty follows his own advice because it's not the response he wanted and it gives him something to do with his hands. He would've far preferred a good natured chuckle or a crinkle at the edge of the blue eyes that never leave his thoughts, especially on the nights that they aren't in the same bed and he stares up at the ceiling and senses Rust's presence down the hall and wonders why the hell they aren't together.

"You know," Rust said halfway through his tea and triangles. "I'm no expert but I think a tea party oughtta have something sweet. If you're gonna do it up proper-like."

Marty's brain races to think. They don't have much in the cupboards and certainly nothing to fit what has grown to a weighty occasion in his mind. To him this has become more a gesture of his unspoken love than lunch. "Well this was a last minute tea party so let's go out and get whatever you want."

"Not saying I'll die without it. Just that I wouldn't say no if it was right here."

Marty bites his bottom lip. Rust no longer talks confusing philosophical circles around him these days but he hopes for a double meaning hidden in what he just said because _he's_ right here. Is this about us, he wonders? Because I want this to be about us.

Rust breaks him out of his thoughts. "Last night."

Mary tingles. "Yeah? What about it?"

"It was nice."

"Uh huh," Marty says, and every syllable feels huge because already this is the most they've ever spoken of it. "I wouldn't be opposed to a whole lot more of that."

Rust makes a sound that suggests he wouldn't mind it either and Marty decides he'll get his something sweet, probably at a bakery and then later in bed. He can even think of a couple interesting ways to combine the two.

Even if they weren't exchanging veiled romantic talk and simply having lunch like regular roommates or friends, it still amazes Marty how much they've both changed. Perhaps flexibility in the tea drinking department is even possible.

"What are you smiling about?" Rust asks, seemingly annoyed.

"Nothing really. Just thinkin' if this here's going to be a regular thing for us we oughtta go shopping for a teapot."


	2. Chapter 2

Rust can't give Marty any concession whatsoever, not way back when and not even now.

"Don't see how we can get a teapot, seeing as how we both drink different kinds."

"Yeah well, there's health benefits of both. I was thinking we could put in one bag of each and make up a name for it."

A smile tugs at the corner of Rust's mouth. "Think I got a name for it."

"Oh yeah?"

Anybody else would just come out and say it but not Rust. Anybody else might beg for it but not Marty.

"Green Lightning," Rust says with a smirk. "That's what we'll call it."

It is a pretty damn good name, and it makes sense to take advantage of these rare high spirits he's in and drag him to the bakery. "You wanna go get your something sweet?"

Rust goes willingly and even seems to have some idea what they'll get. The bakery's warm air smells like butter and vanilla even to Marty's amateur nose, and the curved glass case packed with lined up goodies is almost overwhelming, but Rust zeros in on one particular thing he remembers from his one month in Paris.

Marty knows what the hell a macaroon is but is uninitiated to the colorful ways of _macarons_ and they end up getting four in every color. Pink, daisy yellow, lavender, mint green...they look almost too pretty to eat in their fancy box.

Rust decides they should sample them in the car, and bites into a pink one with a toothy crunch. "Mostly air, I reckon. But good."

"Yeah," Marty agrees, trying a green one and feeling the sugar paste ball up in his molars. "And now that we've done something this damn ridiculous it shouldn't be too big of a stretch to go shopping for a teapot."

Despite Marty's earlier guess, Rust doesn't seem to have any opinions on what constitutes a good one, so where they go and what they look for is all up to him. That's okay, because he's got a plan.

During his convalescence at Marty's house, Rust has been known to watch Antiques Roadshow. He doesn't express any interest in actual antiques but for some reason he's in love with that show, and there's a two stories of antiques crammed into an old warehouse Marty remembers Maggie dragging him to back in the day. She spent a small eternity cooing over useless objects but in the end didn't buy anything. Marty doesn't remember much but just the sheer size of the place probably means they got teapots up the ass.

It's been decades since he was last there but the place still has the same quiet atmosphere and the same dank old smell.

"If I got an issue with the smell of this place I imagine it's hitting you over the head like a sledgehammer," Marty says one they're out of earshot of any employee, and he wonders where its origin is. "What is it, anyway?"

"Degradation. Old textiles, probably old wheat paste and glue."

"Huh."

All the teapots he finds are bottom-heavy feminine numbers with too many flowers. Some even have an iridescent glaze and they're so girly Marty's kind of embarrassed that this was his idea. He wants a teapot but not one of these goofy things.

"Marty," Rust calls. "Look at this."

He literally crosses his fingers it's the perfect vessel for tea but Rust's found a little velvety wool hat stitched with sapphire blue crystals and glittering black beads. It's not the kind of hat that would protect you from weather but it's more a skull hugging little decoration of a hat. Kinda looks like something from that Gatsby movie he never saw, and Rust's holding it with a strange reverence.

"I'm gettin this."

"Allright," Marty chuckles. "May I ask why?"

"It reminds me of The Diamond as Big as the Ritz."

"Zata movie?"

"A story," Rust explains. "There's details in it I can't forget."

"What's it about?"

"Greed and an argument with God."

There's a whiff of that old wiser-than thou look Marty still can't stand even though he's kind of halfway in love with him and he grabs an olive colored bowler hat off a shelf.

"Great. If you're getting that I'm getting this."

Rust pays for both and when he's in the passenger seat while Marty drives, he runs his finger over the hat's beads, turns it over in his hands and even smells it. Marty starts to think of it as an exotic girlfriend and gets a little jealous.

A run to Target run would bring them down to earth after all this silly shit. Buying razor blades and trash bags is more what he's used to, and he's not opposed to trying new things (something that morphs so much day by day with Rust he can hardly stand it) but he also likes the familiar. Which Rust also is, in a way.

Marty picks up the obligatory red plastic Target hand basket on the way in and they find themselves in front of a wall of cleaning products, since two guys generate more dirt and mess than one. Marty doesn't have any real brand allegiance and he wonders if maybe the commercials are right about some of the kinds he hasn't tried. OxyClean claims it's the best, but is it, really? He's always liked the cartoon Scrubbing Bubbles guys, but their cuteness could be a cheap trick to get you to buy it.

Rust clearly isn't interested in any of it because he says, "Be back in a minute."

It takes a little longer than that, but when Marty sees him again he quickly throws something in the red plastic basket and holds up a simple putty colored teapot. It's basic and round and perfect for the two of them. "I kinda like this one."

"Nicely done," Marty says, feeling his face flush for reasons he's not sure about. "I'm sure you saved us a lot of money over one of those flowery-assed ones with the gold trim."

"Imagine so. Guess I'll carry it," Rust says, and tucks it under his arm like a football.

They shop a bit more and only when they're at the checkout does Marty realize that the thing Rust threw in the basket was personal lubricant. They both stare at it a little too long as it sails over the scanner with a deafening beep and they're almost out to the car when Rust says, "I figured it'd help."

They'd been doing pretty good without help - mutual hand jobs while crushed tight in the other man's free arm didn't exactly require a retail purchase, but Marty nods and can't believe Rust brought this up in daylight. Not only will it help, it might change things, and if they're going to go down that road without talking about it much he doesn't much care. The important thing is that they're both going down it together.

He's got all kinds of hope for a second tea party and maybe a test drive of the other stuff, but once they get home there's a subtle wrinkle between Rust's eyes that means he's overtired. It makes sense given how much running around town they did. He's a lot better than he was but still not a hundred percent and Marty worries that he pushed him too hard.

In the kitchen, there's even more evidence that their errands took too long. The heat and humidity from sitting in the car gave the macarons a weird gummy texture and Marty sets the box aside defeatedly. He hopes there's a way to dry them back out, and he gets a twinge of guilt that after all they've done today, Rust looks tired enough to fold.

"I'm going to bed for a little while," he says, and Marty senses without him saying that it's to his own room, and it's not an invitation to join.

"You want me to wake you up a certain time?"

"No more than an hour, I guess."

"Okay."

He sets about peeling the sticker off the bottom of the teapot so he can hand wash it and it's irritating as fuck but he's got a little stitch in his throat over all of this. Happiness, guilt, love, fear...it's a lot to take in, and given that half of it's Rust and who knows what the fuck _he_ thinks or wants, it's all a bit goddamn much.

There was a time when Marty thought the women in his life were ridiculous for wanting to talk things to death. Feelings, the future...they had gaps to fill and he didn't understand how off balance that makes a person feel until now. He wishes he hadn't been such an asshole then as much as he wants to know what's inside Rust about all of this now. His feelings. Their future.

All of a sudden, he can't help but let out a burst sunny laughter, which he quickly stifles so Rust won't hear.

Nothing's fixed or different, but he just noticed their two new hats resting on the table, side by side.


End file.
